The Powers That Be
by Ajuxliapose
Summary: The HD fic you have been waiting for. Drama, love, sex, violence, murder, betrayal. A future fic where Harry's life is turned upside down by a chance encounter.


Hi, this is a new story, it's taken something a long time to come about and I'm looking forward to responses.

It is Harry/Luna and Harry/Draco and Harry/Lucius. If the slash or het hurts your eyes, don't look into the light.

The characters don't belong to me. They belong to JK Rowling. Worship my story and her characters.

Here you go.

The last of his adolescence came and went quickly, and more time came to pass. It felt like forever, but Harry became strong in his magic, ready to fight Voldemort. There were mild flirtations in battle during the transitional period, but nothing could prepare either opponent for the final blow Harry cast, winning the war. The most immediate threat to the wizarding world was finally dead.

It seemed like the darkness had passed, as if witches and wizards could finally switch off their automatic pilot and think for themselves instead of attack and defend. The magical world appeared to wake up from their nightmare – joyful that they had woken, yet so sad and fearful from the previous night where so many friends and relatives died.

Harry Potter walked away with his physical faculties still intact, though after his ordeal it was wondered whether his mental ones were too. He seemed happy and normal, so after a while the people stopped being concerned. He also managed to escape with his best friends by his side, when so many people had not survived. Ron and Hermione fell in love and got married, leaving Harry as a spare part, but it wasn't long before he married too. However, his life was now conducted in the public eye, a celebrity with the same status as royalty, that he wouldn't be able to shake off until he died.

Harry began to live the next ten years after the final battle as if he was in a dream. He shunned public life, unless it was a public appearance, where he felt he had to show up, preferring to take an office job in the ministry instead of being the Quidditch star he always dreamed of being. But as a means of compensation to his failed dream, he used some of his personal fortune and the money his well-paid job gave him to buy some land and make it into a Quidditch ground. He and the Weasleys were a good team, and they arranged to play other amateur teams some weekends.

He woke one morning from his daze to find himself in bed with a blonde woman. He recognised her vaguely as his wife. It was only when she stirred and turned over he realised that he had married Luna Lovegood. His 29-year-old self didn't mind, in fact, he felt his heart stir at the sight of her face. He thought she looked so cute when she slept. He guessed from the way he was smiling that he was madly in love with her and they had a happy marriage. Something in him wanted to know what her personality was like as an adult. He hoped she was still laid back and easy going instead of some shrieking clone of Aunt Petunia.

He ran his hand over her hair as if smoothing it. She didn't move or make a sound, but her lips twitched as if she was trying to smile. Harry grinned at that, and tried to settle down to sleep again, but the sun shining through the window and curtains was determined Harry would not fall asleep again, even if it was a weekend.

A noise came from a nearby room, a bump. Harry was immediately on the alert. He got out of bed, and made his way down the hallway. He stopped at a doorway where the noise came from and slowly opened it. A little girl was getting up from the floor. She was no older than three, and Harry knew straight away it was his daughter. She had his eyes and hair, while she also had Luna's smile and nose. He thought his heart would burst with pride. The toddler to him was beautiful, and he went to pick her up as she rubbed her eyes with her chubby fingers.

"Did you fall out of bed again, Michaela?" Harry asked in a low soft voice. The child nodded. "Shall we go to mummy and daddy's bed?" The little girl nodded again. He took her favourite teddy from the bed and left the room back to his bed. She must have fallen out of bed, having just moved from her cot. They would have to get some bed guards to stop that.

When the three of them were in the big double bed, the little girl fell asleep again, and Harry just watched his wife and child for a while. He was proud. He had succeeded in making a successful and happy home life for himself, something he always wanted. Yet something inside him started to niggle saying 'is this it?' Yes, Harry told himself, this is it. It's not exciting, it's not difficult, but it's making me happy. Then Harry started to wonder if he was craving the excitement he had pre marriage and baby. No chance, his life was a lot more difficult and sad then. It wasn't as if he was programmed to crave excitement and worry. Those days were behind him, and he had to work at being happy. Always a struggle, fight to survive and fight to be happy.

It wasn't that nobody noticed that Harry didn't to be as alert as he once was. He had received no grief counselling and drifted into his job, his marriage and baby. Hermione never spoke to Ron about it in case Ron thought that she was being silly, worrying unnecessarily. They had their own family to be concerned about it and it wasn't as if Harry was on his own. He had Luna and she had somehow snapped out of her daydream around the same time Harry floated into his.

Ron and Hermione had two children, Sophie and Joseph. They seemed to escape the Weasley red hair because of Hermione's genetics. For that, she was grateful. If her children were going to have bushy hair, big teeth and be tall and gangly like Ron (it was only inevitable, neither her or Ron had model looks) they may as well escape the merciless teasing in the playground of 'carrot top'. They certainly weren't ugly children, but Hermione stayed being pessimistic as she always wished to be beautiful, and she never thought that she could produce pretty children.

The Potter and Weasley family would often spend time together on the weekends. It gave Molly a break, as she would teach them to read and write as she did her own children on the weekdays. The children would play together and the adults would chatter and later, they would play some game like tag until Michaela would get tired or too upset from always getting tagged since her toddler legs were never fast enough.

Their routine was very settled and very happy, and Hermione knew that this wasn't to last. Things had been quiet for too long now. She was no way a seer, once even being described as mundane, but sense told her. Harry would naturally attract trouble and that didn't just have to be Voldemort.

Draco Malfoy finished his third pint of lager. He thought about going to call a house elf to bring another one. Then he realised he must be a little bit drunk. He hadn't owned a house elf in five years. His body skinny, and a natural intolerance to holding his drink, Draco found it a struggle to get up to the chest where he had placed the cooling charm. His fourth drink. Maybe soon he would forget the argument he had with his father. Maybe his father would forget.

He had been fired from his job by his father of managing the Malfoy estate, which he had been doing since he left Hogwarts, it was an easy job, kept the money in the family and he liked to delegate and boss people around. Lucius Malfoy, incensed by his only son's admission, threw him out. Narcissa not long dead as well, Draco knew his father would come crawling back to the only family he had left. Besides, it wasn't like his only son admitting he was gay was the end of the world to a man so set on the purity of blood and carrying on the family line.

"Yeah, like I'm being reasonable," he slurred out aloud.

In the morning and after another four lagers before he finally passed out, and a thumping hangover and a five o' clock shadow he nearly sliced his fingers off when stroking it, Draco thought to himself that he would get another job. A ministry job high up would suit him, where he could be a boss.

But it turned out, when he arrived at the ministry, dressed in his best non-dress robes and all smiles, that loyalty to the Malfoy name had waned. No one was willing to boot somebody else out of a job just for him. Instead, when he spoke to the recruitment wizard, the only thing he had to offer was something in a boring department, not a boss, but with good promotion prospects. Draco thought he might as well take it. If promotion meant winning someone over, then he would be promoted in no time at all, as long as he could win over his superior, Mr. Potter. It never occurred to Draco who Mr. Potter might really be since more Muggleborns than ever were taking good ministry jobs, when blood was no longer important. He guessed himself that it wouldn't matter anymore. Many of the pureblood Death Eaters were in the ministry and when they died or were disgraced, and the innocent as well. It left up a lot of vacancies ten years ago. Witches and wizards were also distrustful of the ministry, it was taking them years to recover after all the secrets they had kept from the public, and especially the big cover up in 1995 that Voldemort had returned. Then people started to trust Dumbledore and Harry Potter, Draco thought bitterly. Two people he really disliked.

Until that period when Draco's life was easy. He wanted for nothing and felt loved by his parents. A spoiled brat he had been there when the toughest thing he ever had to deal with was not being the favourite of the most authoritative in Hogwarts. Maybe that was part of the reason that he wanted to be accepted by Umbridge when she declared herself headmistress even though he thought she was a disgusting creature. In 1995, his whole life changed. He realised truly what being a Death Eater meant and that his father was one. It had never bothered him before that his father might have killed people, and that he would want his son to join him in the sick Muggle cleansing rituals Voldemort had been so keen on. Lucius accepted that Draco didn't want a part of it when he was invited. He seemed almost pleased. Draco was then left until the end of his Hogwarts Education and given the same question again. He still refused, stating he would rather manage the Malfoy estate and maybe he could do something a bit more behind the scenes for the Death Eaters.

It was then Lucius started to feel disappointed by his son, and just let him get on with things. Draco never knew it, but Lucius received many a _Crucio_ for not drafting his son. Lucius, although still loving towards his son, felt Draco should have found out and found a way to stop it. He thought he didn't feel bitter or in need of revenge, but such a selfless act deserved some sacrifice from the brat?

For his son to then come to him and say he would rather be with a man than a woman. Lucius thought he might explode. Of course there was nothing wrong with it, he could do without grandchildren messing up his fine house and he had brothers and sisters himself to carry on the line, so in that respect he wasn't all that bothered. Draco had seemed to think that was the reason he was angry. It wasn't. It just seemed to him that the boy thought he could swan about and do whatever he pleased. Lucius had desires too for men, but he never acted on them for the sake of Narcissa. Maybe he was going to go and have fun now.

Harry took Michaela to the park every Sunday to feed the ducks at a park near his Quidditch pitch. Sometimes Ron joined him with Sophie and Joseph, pushing Sophie in a pushchair. She would try and wriggle out when they stopped at the pond, grizzling when she realised Ron was ignoring her. When she was given a piece of bread to throw, she calmed down. Harry crouched down to support Michaela when she threw the bread as she tried the throw it with such might. Ron laughed at this, handing a slice to Joseph. The ducks were quacking madly around them, trying to catch the bread in their mouths. Harry found this quite amusing, a simple pleasure to spend fun time with his child when he spent most days at work. It made him want to give up his job, time like that. He wondered nearly every time he came there if his parents ever took him to feed the ducks. It was something he asked Remus after Luna first suggested he take Michaela to the park.

"I think they did," he replied. "It would have been not long before they died because you would have been too little. Sometimes your parents, Peter, Sirius and I would come down and would go with you in the pram," he said. He didn't look sad at the memory, more nostalgic. Remus had come to terms long ago with losing all his childhood friends. Harry looked upon him; glad he wasn't looking back in a bitter way. He knew Remus had accepted his lot a long time ago.

It looked like quite a nice little scene; two dads with their children feeding the ducks. When all their bread was gone, they walked to the play park nearby. As Joseph ran off to the sandpit, leaving Harry and Ron to push their daughters in the swings, they found the time to talk.

"I don't want to go back tomorrow, Ron," Harry sighed.

"Join the club," Ron replied morosely. "We all have to do it. Well, in your case, you don't have to, but it must keep you away from all the baby talk, and I can't imagine you as a househusband. You wouldn't know where to start."

"Thank God for the Durselys then," Harry said cheerfully. They laughed and pushed their daughters higher until there were squeals of fear. They slowed the swings down and the children squirmed in their seats. Ron picked Sophie out and brought her into a reassuring cuddle. She was only eighteen months old and frightened by the height. Michaela just giggled, and Harry started to push her again. Harry and Ron looked at each other. They couldn't believe that outings like this could be this much fun, that being grown up could be so good.

When it got to midday, Harry and Ron took the children back home. Ron drove while Harry walked, carrying an already tired Michaela the short distance to his house. It was just down the road from the park, a walk down a tree-lined pavement where a variety of different sized, shaped, coloured and periodic houses made their way to accompany the trees and path. Harry thought that as a boy he might have loved to walked down this road and pick out the houses he wanted to live in. Childish dreams really, but where the relative he always thought would take him away would have lived.

When he walked through the door, Luna took Michaela off his hands to clean up for Sunday lunch. She had done roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, as Harry could smell as soon as he entered the house. It made his tummy rumble, and Luna laughed as she patted it while he stood at the sink.

"Yes, there will be enough for Harry and whatever little beast is living in your belly."

Harry laughed. "It's just a beast." He swept her and Michaela up into a big hug and nuzzled them both. They all giggled and tried to nuzzle back. Harry took Michaela from Luna and left her to dish it up.

After their meal, Luna left Harry to wash up, well, cheat at washing up, he found good blasting charms for a crusty meat tray and drying charms for when everything was all soapy. It definitely saved him a job, which he had to do at the Dursleys and then there was the fear of breaking plates, when a simple reparo would cure all slippery wrong doings.

When in the afternoon, they took Michaela out to help clean out their pet rabbit, they put Tabbitha the rabbit on a lead and then into a pen where Michaela would stroke and play with her. Harry would always watch this with amusement as Tabbitha would hop and kick her feet about, never hurting their child. When that was done, Harry put their dog, Solo on the lead and drive him up the hill for a walk. It was the only day in the week when he did it, and he liked the quiet moments he got alone. Solo was a black Labrador, he was angry with Luna at first for bringing him home when he was a puppy because he reminded him so much of Sirius. This dog, however, was nothing like his Godfather. Instead of being playful, Solo was rather lazy; he needed the exercise regularly because Luna was too soft on him, feeding treats of dog chocolates and food off her plate.

The breeze ruffled his hair further, and it was always at this point (4.02pm) that made him feel sad and slump his shoulders and drag his feet the rest of the way. He didn't want to carry on the next week of the drudgery of commuting, the dullness of his colleagues or the constant paperwork and ministry politics. Even the announcement of a new person in the office, bound to bring some drama into the place seemed unexciting to him.

As he drove home, he hoped that Luna would do something to cheer him up – tell him a funny story about her father's latest exploits in Sweden or anything strange Michaela said or did as she was start to show first signs of magic. That might put a bit of a spring in his step. Or maybe Luna might do the thing on the thing on the chair that really turned him on....

Evenings for Harry were spent reading the latest Quidditch player's autobiographies or Quidditch strategies or something along those lines. Luna would often talk to her friends via the fireplace and put Michaela to bed. When she came down, Harry asked her to do the thing on the thing on the chair that turned him on. She refused, on the grounds she was having a 'fat day'. Harry didn't notice any difference, but let her get on with it. She agreed to give him a shoulder and back massage since the next day he would be sitting down all day with a quill. It would hurt anyone's back and shoulder muscles.

As they cuddled up at bedtime, Harry felt satisfied with his lot and conceded that Sundays were his best and worst days. He would feel sad to wake up in the morning.


End file.
